Trust On

Day of daydreaming nears
its waking, saying well,
at least this time no glass
was shattered, a fragile
insight dissolving under
scrutiny. Rain, please. 
Televangelize the trees
into believing one good
seed is all that separates 
the sky from the earth. 
Colossal misty outlines
make me believe in a life
after you. That we got here,
that delusion deepened so, 
to frame figments of 
desire’s theater as 
doorways, rests on my 
workbound wrists.
A slew of words adds
another room to crumbling
cottage where you cook
breakfast not because we
were hungry but because 
there’s no better way to say 
you care. The floor
is rain-mud: I might
be going mad. Being wrong
about it all after all does
that. That human inefficacy.
We released you.  Blush, 
if you must. Your grip loosens, 
blossoms days pocked with weeds,
and though it rots, sucks, hurts 
like a hangnail to rip
apart, I must stand over
my heart with an umbrella.